


Slayers Week 2020

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Friendship/Love, Homecoming, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: A collection of drabbles for Slayers Week 2020:
Relationships: Chelia Blendy/Wendy Marvell, Cobra | Erik/Jellal Fernandes, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine, Levy McGarden/Gajeel Redfox, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Rufus Lore/Orga Nanagear
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74
Collections: Slayers Week 2020





	1. Scars - Fraxus

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that if you want to talk to me about my fics and writing, or anime/shows/games in general then you can now find me on discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/6sSddAWa5c).

It was astonishing how different silence could be from quietness. The room had been quiet before, in the way of an early morning, sleep slow to slink away as sunlight crept through the windows, broken only by soft murmurs, a kiss to the temple, a chaste meeting of the lips. Laxus protesting, warm hands trying to roam, to coax Freed to stay in the warm nest they’d made for just a little longer, to linger in his arms. Freed soothing, promising to come back, voice soft. A smile on his lips as he caught one of the roaming hands and lifted it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn, chuckling at pink flush curling across Laxus’ cheeks as he finished with a kiss to the broad palm before releasing him and rising smoothly from the bed.

That was when the silence had appeared.

Not the creeping uneasy silence brought on by nightmares or a bad day. No this was the instant silence of being caught in a memory that you’d thought you’d left behind, and Freed knew even before he turned what Laxus would be looking at. Sure, enough blue eyes were locked on the scar – still a purplish-red although it was fading slowly – that curled upwards from his hip, up across his ribs and to his shoulder. The mark of a wound that should have been fatal. That had very nearly been so, to the point where there were nights when Freed would wake gasping and clutching at his side, expecting to find skin torn asunder and his life bleeding out between trembling fingers. It had been close, but he was alive. However, he could feel the weight of the ‘ _you almost died’_ in Laxus’ gaze and shivered under the intensity of it.

“I’m…” He doesn’t get chance to finish, to repeat the words he’s said a hundred times. Words that had lost all meaning after he’d whispered them, choking on his own blood and whimpers, the lie of it written in the blood pooling beneath him. Cut off by Laxus surging towards him, reaching for him like a drowning man in need in salvation, gripping his arms, gentle despite his desperation and pulling him back to the bed. Back to Laxus. He doesn’t resist, all thoughts of the bathroom and breakfast melting away as he lets Laxus reel him, lets him kiss him, slow and lingering, a confirmation that he’s still there, that he’s alive.

A promise that it won’t happen again.

Leans into it, swallows down the lie, because they both know that’s a promise that neither of them can keep because Freed will never hesitate to protect Laxus or their team. Just as they both know that for all his fear and lingering worry, Laxus wouldn’t ask him to change. “It’s just a scar,” he whispers when they part, making no effort to pull away from the Dragon-slayer, looking up into his eyes. “In time it will fade away…” Not entirely, the wound had run too deep to hope for that, but he didn’t mind. It was proof that he had survived, that he was whole once more and here in Laxus’ arms. Laxus didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, kissing him again, fingers roaming down the length of the scar, memorising it as though he hadn’t done it every day since Freed had been injured. A different promise in that touch, refusing to forget but accepting that it was done.

“Just don’t fade away too…”

“Never,” Freed promises as easy as breathing, kissing him back, resting his hand on top of Laxus’ as it runs down the scar again and for now it’s enough.


	2. Changes - Gratsu

It was supposed to be over.

Gray had seen Lucy rewrite the book of E.N.D. with his own eyes, had held his breath alongside her when it had vanished and had seen Natsu come back to them. To him. Alive and whole, no trace of the demon to be seen, just Natsu exhausted and wounded, but alive. Acnologia and Zeref were gone, the guild was safe, Makarov was alive.

It was over.

Gray had allowed himself to believe it. To lose himself in the celebrations, even his hand had never strayed far from Natsu’s, his eyes continually searching for the Dragon-slayer as though some part of him still believed that he was going to disappear again. They’d had a terribly awkward conversation about their fight, had taken the chance to punch each other when Erza was distracted. No magic, no rage, just a tentative reach for normality, and when it had descended into a brawl that had spread through the guild, it had felt like he could breathe again. Neither of them forgot what had happened, or how close it had been. It was there in the way that Gray never strayed too far, unable to forget what had happened the last time he let the idiot out of his sight. It was written in the scared, burnt flesh on Natsu’s arm that was slow to heal despite Wendy’s best efforts, and how their nights were punctuated with nightmares that chased them into each other’s arms for reassurance.

He had been watching so closely, that he’d missed the signs. Blinded by his need for everything to be okay, the belief that it was over. At least that was what he told himself, even as a doubting voice whispered in the back of his mind that it wasn’t that he had been blind, but that Natsu had been hiding it. It was hard not to think that as his first glimmer that something was awry was when the bandages were being changed and he caught a fleeting glimpse of vermillion scales against scorched skin before Natsu had turned away, one hand resting over the patch. Naively, desperately Gray hadn’t said a word, hoping that it was a trick of the light, a leftover from Natsu losing himself to the flames, a flash of Igneel shining through.

Then one morning, he woke to amber eyes staring at him from the other side of the bed, bolting upright with a shout of alarm and all but scrambling off the bed. Yet, when he’d looked back at Natsu’s startled cry and question, the amber was gone, the Dragon-slayer’s eyes back to the warm olive he knew so well. He’d played it off as a nightmare bleeding into his waking moments, it wouldn’t be the first time, and Natsu seemed to buy the excuse and miss the way that Gray watched him for the rest of the day, and the next and the next…

It didn’t stop.

They would be talking, and Natsu’s eyes would flicker, flashing amber for a moment, but as soon as Gray looked again, they would be back to normal. The Dragon-slayer’s arm healed, and the scales were nowhere to be seen when the bandages were removed for good, but then Gray walked into the bathroom while Natsu was in the shower and had frozen, staring at the scales that trailed down his back. Another morning, he’d rolled over, reaching for Natsu and felt scales beneath searching fingertips, but when he’d checked again, smooth skin had met his touch. Another night and roused by Natsu’s nightmares he had held him close despite his growing disquiet and started to run his fingers through bed-mussed hair to soothe him, only to find them brushing against tiny, curling horns nestled amongst the pink. He’d pulled his hand away as though scalded, masked it by humming under his breath and holding Natsu close, even as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will it away.

It didn’t go away, the changes happening more frequently until others started to notice too. Natsu included because the Dragon-slayer began to pull away, a haunted look in his eyes, his grin a distant memory. His eyes were amber more often than not these days, scales forming and fading in front of their eyes. Horns growing slowly but steadily until they couldn’t be ignored anymore, and Gray could feel his magic stirring, reacting to the emerging demon and knew that time was trickling through their fingers. That the more Natsu changed, the less things changed, a slow, inevitable pull back to the place they’d been in during the Alvarez war – a devil and his slayer.


	3. Childhood - Gajevy

Levy woke to warm hands on the swell of her stomach. It wasn’t the first time, and there was a sleepy smile creeping across her lips before she was even half-awake, and it took her a moment to realise that Gajeel was talking. Not to her, but to their child, his voice barely above a whisper. At first, she thought that maybe it was a story. One of the fairytales he had taken to reading to her bump when the baby was restless and keeping her awake with it, his voice lulling them both to rest, and keeping her eyes closed she listened, tired enough that the thought of dropping off to sleep to his voice was more than a little tempting.

It wasn’t a story.

“… I’m not going anywhere.” A promise, whispered like a prayer and the fingers against her stomach trembled for a moment, and she fought back a frown. _Of course not,_ she thought, not allowing herself to think about all the near misses, the terrible moments in which she’d thought that he was gone, that he had left her behind. He was here now, warm and solid, and going nowhere. He had promised her as much, promised not to leave her behind again. “I know it wasn’t his fault exactly, but it hurt…” Now she did frown, hearing the shift in his voice, the hurt that bled through, but she held still, continuing to feign sleep as she listened. _Who was ‘he?’_ Gajeel shifted, bumping his nose against her stomach, taking a deep breath as though to drink in the scent of both of them, maybe he could already smell their child, that perfect blend of the two of them, she hadn’t asked. Perhaps she would, but later because he was talking again and she all but held her breath to listen to him. “…all those years searching, and he was right here, and I didn’t know…”

 _Oh,_ understanding dawned, and she ached to reach out and hold him just as she had the night after the Dragons had saved them all and said their farewells.

“I won’t do that,” Gajeel promised, fervent words pressed to her skin. “I will be here. I will annoy the hell out of you because you won’t be able to forget that I’m there. You won’t have the childhood that I had… no endless, fruitless searching, no questions without answers, no…” 

Levy wasn’t sure whether she had made a noise or twitched, something to betray that she was awake, but there was a sudden silence, and then one of the hands left her stomach and moved to cup her cheek. “I can tell that you’re awake.” There was amusement in Gajeel’s voice, even though he’d been caught in a quiet, vulnerable moment, and she opened her eyes, blinking up at him, breath catching at the look in his eyes.

“H-how?”

“Your heartbeat changed,” Gajeel replied with a shrug, and for half a moment she was tempted to hit him, but she couldn’t shake his words. The promises he had made, and she softened, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, leaning up to kiss him.

“Our child is going to have the best childhood,” she whispered when they parted, still leaning into him. “I already knew that from the moment I told you, and I’ve never doubted it.” Gajeel had stiffened briefly at the first but, but at the sheer faith in her voice, he relaxed, melting into her and guiding them both back down to the bed, hand resting on her stomach.

_The best childhood…_


	4. Home - Orfus

It wasn’t until he turned back to check on Rufus, watching his partner pause for a moment to rest against the doors, fingers curling against the grain of the wood as though to commit it to memory, that he truly let himself realise how much he had missed this. He had had slowly got used to the idea of seeing the guild as home. It had taken a long time to get there though because under Jiemma it had just been a place whose orbit he couldn’t escape. He had to come back, or risk the man’s ire, and even with his power and the fact that for the most part he was left to his own devices as long as he did his jobs and stayed strong. Now though he always knew that the others were waiting for him, ready to welcome him back with a smile, warm food and warmer company. That hadn’t changed even over the last few months when he had barely spent any time here, either reluctantly taking jobs, or spending his time between the hospital and the apartment he shared with Rufus. But there had been something missing, a spark of something that he couldn’t put a name to.

Now he did… _Rufus._

His expression softened, waiting patiently, giving the other man a chance to catch his breath and move when he was ready, even though a part of him that he’d ignored until now wanted to hustle him inside and see Rufus back where he belonged. He swallowed the urge, offering Rufus an encouraging smile as his partner took a cautious step and then another and another. Staying close enough to catch him if necessary, but far enough away to at least give the illusion of independence, knowing that Rufus wanted to do this himself. And he was, only the slow, steady movements and the slight hesitance when he stepped forward on his left leg betraying the grievous injuries that he had suffered a few months ago. The wounds that had come so close to stealing away this moment, this feeling of homecoming and Orga’s throat closed for a moment.

_Too close, it had been far too close._

He’d been told to prepare for the worst, the healers trying to stop him from getting his hopes up during the darkest time, the warnings that Rufus might never be the same again, that his recovery might plateau. There had been nights when he’d even started to believe it, the doubt creeping inside and wrapping itself around his heart. Now, he felt those knots loosen and fall away, as the others who had been waiting for them surged forward to swamp Rufus, Orga moving away to give them room. Smile growing as he watched the slightly bewildered expression on his partner’s face as he was completely swamped with well wishes, hugs, and even a rare kiss on the cheek from Minerva. Part of him wanting to run back to the hospital to snap his fingers at the doubting doctors and nurses and show them just how far Rufus had come, what they had done to the odds that had been set against them from the very start. That even though they were still a way off Rufus being able to go out on jobs, his partner had survived, stubbornly pushing through every limitation and setback to be standing here.

He didn’t move though, because as much as he wanted to show them how wrong they had been, he didn’t want to set foot in that place again any time soon and he knew that Rufus had had more than enough of the hospital. Besides, why would he give up this moment? This precious moment that had seemed so impossible not long before, where he could watch the shy smile curving Rufus’ lips, his partner taken aback by the welcome even though they’d had a never-ending stream of visitors for the last few months. _He’s back,_ he thought. Opening his arms almost without thinking as he saw Rufus gently pushing through the crowd towards him, moving to meet him as he stumbled slightly. Drawing him into a tight embrace without commenting on the falter, leaning in to kiss him, and just drinking in the fact that he was here. That there was a rightness to standing in the guild that had been missing since Rufus had been hurt, a sense of things settling into place, a homecoming and his voice was quiet as he kissed Rufus again and murmured.

“Welcome home…”


	5. Hoarding - Gratsu

Gray wasn’t completely oblivious, he had noticed that his wardrobe was slowly but steadily getting emptier and emptier, especially after Natsu had been staying over for a few days at a time. However, he wasn’t ready to call the Dragon-slayer on it, because for all he knew he was just if not more responsible for his decreasing pile of clothing. Mavis knows he lost clothes far too often, and while he was usually good at tracking them down, he still lost a fair amount that way. Going on jobs was even worse, because he could and did fling stuff out of train windows, leave them in inns and a dozen other places, and Natsu was rarely inclined to go back and fetch them, especially if travel was involved. At the same time, he hadn’t missed the number of times he’d glimpsed Natsu wearing something of his, particularly his hoodies, and not just in his flat, but at the guild, out on jobs and when they were hanging out at Natsu’s house, and so he waited.

It was a couple of weeks later that they had some downtime so that Natsu could recover from their last job, the idiot protesting that he was ready to go on another one even as he winced when moving, his side and left leg still heavily bandaged. Gray ignored the protests with the ease of long practice, although he had a feeling that he would need to get Erza involved when Natsu got really restless. That was for later though, because for now, Gray had convinced Natsu to curl up with him on the couch to watch the lacrima-tv, the Dragon-slayer sprawled against him and half-asleep…and wearing one of Gray’s hoodies.

“Natsu…”

“Yeah?” Natsu’s reply was slightly delayed and heavy with sleep, and Gray hesitated for a moment. “I need to go the bathroom," he said instead of his original question, smiling at the grumble that earned him, and he had to kiss messy pink hair and promise not to be long before the Fire Mage allowed him to slip out from under him.

Upstairs, he paused for a moment before heading for the bedroom, trying not to feel guilty even though his bag was sat on the end of the bed waiting to be unpacked. Not entirely sure what he was looking for, he glanced in the laundry basket – wincing a little at the pile that was building up, but while he found another of his hoodies, that was it. Next, he checked under the bed, as he knew Natsu had a habit of stuffing things under there in favour of tidying up, the last time they’d cleared it out they’d found the payment from a job they’d done months ago that Natsu couldn’t even remember shoving under there. It was messy and cluttered, but with everything but clothing apart from an odd sock that Gray considered warily before fishing out and launching into the laundry basket. Maybe he had just lost the stuff, but it was a lot, and even with his regular stripping, he couldn’t help but be suspicious.

Finally, he turned his attention to the rickety old wardrobe, deciding to give it up if nothing was there. Noting with amusement the scorch mark on the side from where Natsu had once woken from a dream about fighting and launched fire at it – scaring them both half to death and leaving the wardrobe scarred for life. He had barely touched the handle on the wardrobe before the door all but burst open, and clothing – far too much clothing – tumbled out onto him, and he fell back on the end of the bed with a startled yelp. The wardrobe definitely hadn’t been that full last time he’d checked because he could remember making an offhand comment about having to go clothes shopping. Wondering how the hell Natsu got by on so little – the memory of the ‘because I don’t strip it off and lose it everywhere, Ice Princess’ comment making him roll his eyes. However, Natsu hadn’t been shopping, and Gray was torn between triumph and bemusement when he realised that the vast majority of the clothes that had fallen on him was his own missing clothing.

“… Gray?” The quiet voice startled him, and guiltily, still covered in clothes he turned to see the Dragon-slayer in the doorway, red-faced and leaning heavily on the door frame. Gray opened his mouth to scold the idiot for climbing the stairs without him on his injured leg, but instead, he found himself asking.

“Why are you hoarding my clothes?” He smiled as he asked, not wanting Natsu to think that he was angry. Confused as hell, yes. Relieved that he hadn’t lost that many clothes, but not angry, especially because Natsu only seemed to get pinker at his question, looking down and all but squirming under his expectant gaze.

“… they smell like you.”


	6. Treasure - Laxus & Raijinshuu

It’s war.

Laxus knew that, just as they’d all been aware of what that could mean, especially if things went wrong. And with the odds stacked so heavily against them, things going wrong had been an inevitability. He’d been prepared for that, or at least that was what he’d told himself.

Then the Raijinshuu had been attacked at the cathedral.

He now understood why’d they told him to stay away after Ichiya had filled them in on what had happened, but it didn’t quiet the voice in the back of his mind that insisted that he should have been there as he stood in the infirmary and watched Porlyusica work. _I should have been there fighting side by side with them._ _Protecting them…_ Even without them telling him to have faith in them, that they were capable of handling themselves, he knew that better than anyone. Knew that there was no one else who could have protected Magnolia as long as Freed had, or who would have protected their Captain to the extent that Ever and Bickslow had. It had taken him far too long to acknowledge it, but he had always known that they were strong in their own right, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to protect them.

True, he wanted to protect the entire guild. His friends. His family. His home. It was all precious to him, each and every life something to be held close and protected, again something that it had taken him too long to realise and longer still to accept. However, while the guild was precious, it was the Raijinshuu that he treasured above all else because they had been there in the beginning. Always by his side despite his best attempts to push him away, following him even when he had led them astray, and waiting for him to return even though they’d made a life and a place for themselves in the guild while he was gone. They watched his back but refused to hide behind it. Challenge him. Made him fight that little bit harder. Made him smile.

And now they were laid out in the beds in front of him, hurt in a fight that he hadn’t been part of. Laid low, because this was a war, and no one was safe, no matter how much he cared about them.

Porlyusica was finishing up and talking to him, and he tried to listen he really did. But there was a roaring in his ears, one that threatened to devour everything else. _They will be okay,_ those words at least made it through, and he nodded, the knot that had formed in his chest easing a little. A fear that he’d refused to acknowledge fading just a little, and when she left, he moved closer to the beds, letting his gaze drift over each of them in turn. _They’re going to be okay,_ he was glad he had her reassurance because looking at them he was reminded far too painfully of how they’d looked in the wake of Tempesta’s attack and his hands curled into fists at his side. He’d promised to protect them after that, to grow stronger, and yet here they were again, and he knew that it was different. That it was a war on a completely different scale, and that they had chosen to fight to tell him to stay away, but it didn’t help.

“…I’m going to destroy him,” he promised, voice a low growl but deafening in the silence of the infirmary. There was no response, not that he’d been expecting one, but still, his shoulders slumped a little. _I promise I will make him regret laying a hand on you…_


	7. Reunion - Stingue (Future Rogue)

In the end, the only difference he’d been able to make was to leave a warning.

A final, desperate warning to someone who had considered him an enemy. Still, even after he’d fallen to the shadow, devoured his own light, some part of him had still trusted Natsu Dragneel. They’d been enemies, and he’d seen his own death in the other Dragon-slayer’s eyes when he’d almost killed the Lucy from this time and had killed the one from his own, but still, he trusted him.

_Protect Frosch…_

_….and that will save everyone, that will save me…and Sting._

If he was honest, he was entirely sure that was true. The shadows had been there long before Frosch had been taken from him. Before Gray had destroyed part of his foundation and left him to crumble into the darkness. Would changing Frosch’s fate save him? Or would it just delay the inevitable? He wasn’t sure, and that scared him, and again it boiled down to truth…because Natsu as block-headed as he could be would remember, he would watch, because Rogue had become a threat to his friends, to Fairy Tail, and that was something the Fire Mage wouldn’t tolerate.

Trust, and time…that was all he had.

And it was too easy to start to doubt, to hear the whispers in the darkness of the limbo where he found himself, caught between the past he hadn’t been able to change like he’d wanted, and the future that he could no longer return to because it was in flux. Transformed by his own actions and by the possibility of Natsu’s choices and actions. Empty of everything but him, his memories and shifting, fleeting glimpses of time flowing around him. Minutes, hours, days and weeks… and with each that passed, the doubts grew a little larger, the whispers a little louder. _You should have killed Lucy… should have stopped Natsu… Frosch will still die… You will still fall… why would he listen to your words?_ He had no arguments, and his mind was cruel, the whispering voice an echo of Sting’s soft, broken voice at the end of things. _Rogue? Why are you doing this? Rogue?!_ To hear him again was a blessing and a curse, and the shadows pressed closer, and time pressed onwards.

It had been too long.

If he was honest, he had long since lost any awareness of how long he’d been trapped here. Was it close to the day that Frosch died? Had that day already passed him by? Had Natsu failed, had he forgotten… had he let Frosch die? All he knew was that the darkness was everywhere, infinite and eternal, and he didn’t know what that meant for the world he’d tried so hard to save.

_Frosch. Sting. Me…_

More days.

More darkness.

More whispering doubts, until he thought he would go mad with them. Maybe that was to be his punishment, perhaps that was what this ghost of Sting that haunted his mind and whispered continually in his ears now wanted. Was this it? Was this all he would ever know? A slow encroaching madness… would he even know when he had gone mad? Maybe he already had, and these moments of lucidity and memory, and questioning were mere illusions of a mind gone to ruin.

*

Light.

There was light…

The darkness had been so absolute for so long that there was no way for him to miss the change. It began slowly, a subtle greying of the shadows around him, painful on his eyes after so long even as muted as it was, and he was forced to close his eyes. Still, he could feel the light on his skin, could see it growing through his eyelids. Light. Sunlight? No, there was no warmth against his skin, no stirring of air to suggest he was being pulled out of this in-between place, but there was light, white and bright, eyes burning even while closed.

“Rogue…” A voice, soft and warm, and oh so familiar and he couldn’t breathe. All he’d had for so long was the broken whisper, to hear that voice now as it was meant to be, strong and loving, alive in ways that it hadn’t been in far too long, hurt worse more than the light pressing in on him and he shook his head. He wouldn’t hope, wouldn’t let himself be tricked. He must’ve gone mad, the light the voice the product of a mind pushed too far… But there was warmth now. Not from the light, but from the fingers brushing his face, tracing his marking with a tenderness that made his breath catch.

“…Sting?” He hadn’t meant to say it, to let himself hope, but his heart betrayed him, and the name slipped out, and there was a pause, and then chuckle, and lips brushing his. Just a fleeting kiss, but it felt as though the light was flooding him, pressing through his body and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flying open, and it was so bright, too bright, and yet the radiance that filled what had been darkness before paled compared to the figure in front of him as Sting smiled at him.

_Protect Frosch…_

_….and that will save everyone, that will save me…and Sting._

_Thank you, Natsu…_


	8. Abandon - Sildarts

The truth has the power to hurt, to cut deep and leave wounds that bleed tears.

So, why was Silver here, his fingers curled around a nearly empty tankard, and giving voice to words that he had sworn never to voice aloud? He wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would have been a lie, his strange, not fully alive body barely registered the buzz of alcohol at the best of times, and he’d was only on his second, even when he had been entirely …human? Alive? He wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, or what he had been – that wouldn’t have been enough to get him tipsy. Maybe it was the aching, clawing loneliness that grew each day. Sure, there were the other demon gates, but he was different a powerful puppet. A weapon. A tool. Useful, and wanted for that and that alone. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had seen his son. He had seen Gray with his own two eyes, so close that he could have gone to him, and yet had felt further from him than ever, the years, the losses and the secrets building a mountain between them.

Or, was it the man sat next to him, a little closer to tipsy but watching him with clear eyes and listening?

“…I abandoned him…” he continues, voice a whisper, as if he says it quietly enough it won’t be the kind of truth that wounds, feels the pain blossom at the confession. Doesn’t say Gray’s name aloud, not forgetting who this man is, that he knows his son in a way Silver never got the chance to. He’s not jealous he realises as he takes a trembling sip of his drink, it’s sorrow that colours his thoughts, paints them in shades of grey even as his mind cries out. _Gray, oh Gray…_ That had been his last word too, from his other life, his real life. He remembered that with a clarity that was slowly fading from his other memories. _Gray? Gray, where are you?_ His last moments spent thinking about the child, that he had now abandoned, the one who believed him dead, and who couldn’t know the truth. “…he will never forgive me.” It was easier to think like that, to think of Gray being angry for the secrets the lies, the lifetime of growing up without his parents than to imagine how Gray might see him. To envision what his expression would be when he realised that his father wasn’t even fully human anymore, that he was a shade of the man that his son might not even remember anymore.

“He will remember you,” Gildarts murmured, and Silver blinked. Had he said that aloud? Had he mentioned Gray’s name too? Panic clawed at him for a moment, but there was nothing in the other man’s expression to indicate that he had mentioned his son by name. _You have to be more careful,_ he scolded himself, fingers white-knuckled around his tankard as he stared at the other man. “Brats never seem to forget their parents, even when it would easier for them, or when they’ve had years with another family no matter how large.” Fondness colours those words, and worry, the voice of a father, and Silver longs to believe him, even as he aches at the thought that all he had left Gray was a scant few years of memories.

Fingers, burning hot in comparison to his, but probably just warm in the way of a real, living person, come to rest over his, and he realises that he’d looked away at some point. The touch, surprisingly gentle for what he knows about this man’s magic, draws his attention back to Gildarts. “As for the rest, I’ve learned that children are often too forgiving of their father’s sins…even if you walked away. Even if you didn’t know…” There’s a distant kind of pain beneath those words, streaked with guilt. Truth then, although there’s something in Gildarts’ expressions that suggests the wounds are healing, no longer bleeding, and for a moment, Silver does envy him. Not sure that his will ever stop bleeding, not sure that he deserves that relief, and yet… there is hope in those words. A desperate, fleeting spark of possibility and he doesn’t quite let himself believe it, but he can feel it working on him along with the warmth of Gildarts’ touch and inclines his head, whispering.

“…maybe, one day.”


	9. Magic - Chendy

Wendy yawned as she pushed yet another book away, a quick glance at the clock confirming that she should have gone home a long time ago and that she had missed dinner…again. Surprised that Carla hadn’t reminded her, as her partner was usually better at keeping track of the time, she glanced over at the other side of the desk and smiled as she realised that the Exceed was fast asleep. She’d lost her grip on her human form too, ears twitching as she dreamed. Well, that decided things, and eyeing the pile of books she still needed to get to Wendy bit back another yawn and rose to feet, stretching out stiff shoulders as she circled around to Carla. She didn’t try to wake the Exceed, instead scooping her up into her arms and heading for the door, trying not to feel as though she was failing Chelia with each step she took.

 _There is an answer here, and I will find it,_ she promised yet again as she turned the library lights off, with a last lingering glance at the books she’d already gone through and the ones waiting. _There has to be,_ she added, not wanting to think about the fact that they were running out of books to look through, and so far none of the others had been able to find the answers she needed.

There has to be a way…

The guild was empty when she left, most sensible already in bed and the less sensible ones having drunk enough to send them home in a stupor. She was glad for the quiet, for the lack of questions about her non-existent progress, the gentle suggestions that maybe it couldn’t be done, that she should rest. Unfortunately, that meant that her thoughts were free to wander, and as usual, they settled on Chelia. It wasn’t all bad, especially as the other girl’s magic was slowly creeping back, and Wendy couldn’t forget the way her face had lit up when she had held a ball of wind between her hands for longer than before just the week before. It was more than they had thought possible in the immediate aftermath of the war, and to see Chelia smiling properly again, eyes bright, was a gift she would never deny.

But it wasn’t enough.

As careful as she was not to use the full extent of her own magic around Chelia, she had caught the other girl watching her, unable to completely mask the grief and longing. Even now, with her own magic returning, it lingered in the quiet moments and when she thought Wendy wasn’t watching. But the Dragon-slayer knew, could feel it seeping into the space between them, not enough to break them… yet, but fracture lines that scared her and so she had started searching. Hunting for a way to undo what had been done. An enchantment that would allow Chelia to regain her power that would boost her returning magic to her previous levels. Oh, she could do it for short periods, but the one time they had tried that, Chelia had wept when the enchantment had faded, and she had been left struggling to even summon a breeze.

Permanence. She needed to find a way to make it permanent, refusing to listen to the people who said that it wasn’t possible that what was done was done. _There has to be a way._ She was naïve enough to believe it wouldn’t come at a cost, but she had long since accepted that, although it was why she hadn’t said a word to Chelia about what she was searching for, knowing that the other girl wouldn’t agree. But they weren’t at war anymore, Fairy Tail wasn’t at risk, and Wendy…

… Wendy wanted to see Chelia smile as her wind whipped around just as she had the first time they’d met.


	10. Loyalty - Fraxus

Jellal faltered as he caught himself knocking on the bedroom door, hand falling back to his side as he remembered that it would do any good. He was too used to hearing Erik calling out for him to call in even before he had reached the door, to anticipating his every move, even as his partner had tried to tone it back. Now, he didn’t have a choice, and Jellal didn’t know to fix it.

Was it even fixable?

They didn’t even know what the curse had done, beyond leaving Erik trapped in a bubble of silence that so far, their attempts hadn’t been able to penetrate let alone remove. Jellal shivered. It had been hard enough when he had lost his sight, having to rely on the others, learning to compensate even temporarily with his other senses, and that had been him. For Erik, with his sensitive senses and his reliance on his ability to hear, it had to be like being trapped in hell.

“I’m coming in,” he called, knowing that it meant nothing, that Erik couldn’t hear it. Hated that it made him feel better, as he turned the handle and slipped inside. The room beyond was in darkness, and quiet, so quiet, and he could hear Erik’s ragged breathing, the edge of panic that had been there ever since the Dragon-slayer had first realised he couldn’t hear anything at all. Cautiously he turned on the light, and immediately his eyes were drawn to the figure huddled between their bed and the far wall, heart constricting at the sight.

_Erik…_

The Dragon-slayer wasn’t looking at him, head pressed against his knees, fingers drumming on the side of his head, just shy of touching the point of his ears. A desperate attempt to hear a sound. He looked small like this, when usually even at his quietest he seemed to spill the space around him, although according to Sorano that was because Jellal couldn’t take his eyes off him. That was true, but Erik was meant to be seen, to be heard. And seeing him like this, trying to hide away from this soundless world hurt. He looked lost, vulnerable in a way that scared Jellal because it felt as though he could disappear just as quickly as sound had disappeared from Erik’s world. It was that, more than any real hope that he would be welcomed or that he could offer more than a modicum of comfort that propelled him forward, stomping his feet, trying to make vibrations so that he wouldn’t startle the Dragon-slayer as he had countless times since this had begun.

Whether Erik felt the vibrations or the weight of his gaze, the Dragon-slayer stirred, lifting his head to peer at Jellal, his gaze raw and impossible to hold. He was hurting in a way that Jellal could never fully understand, couldn’t heal, couldn’t help, and guilt surged. He clamped down on it, moving forward slowly and steadily until he was close enough to crouch in front of his partner. It was almost a relief that Erik couldn’t hear either his thoughts – a whirling, churning mess of worry and guilt and dread that he wouldn’t give voice to – or his voice, because right then, seeing the redness around Erik’s eye, the dried tear tracks, he didn’t have anything to say. Instead, he opened his arms in silent invitation, and there was a pause, Jellal barely breathing, Erik looking ready to shatter, and then the Dragon-slayer was moving, launching himself into the waiting embrace and Jellal held him close. Absorbing the trembling, the sob that was little more than a whisper of sound, the fingers that clutched at him, searching for an anchor in the strange, silent world.

Loyalty

“Tell us where he is.” Freed heard the demand and ignored it. Just as he had every time before, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall even as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The pain was expected at this point, the first blow snapping his head to the side, reopening the gash above his eye again, fresh blood trickling down the side of his face to mix with the rest. The second saw him bite his tongue, and he couldn’t quite hold back his grunt of pain as his mouth filled with copper. The third was aimed at his shoulder and for a moment, or maybe it was longer all he could see was white. The joint was already swollen and distorted, bruising visible through his torn shirt and spreading down his arm and chest and he suspected his back too, and he definitely felt something shift in it under the force of that blow.

That injury scared him. He could handle the pain more or less, having given them nothing but curses and the odd, barely suppressed grunt…maybe a scream this time, he couldn’t tell over the roaring in his ears. He didn’t care what they did to his face, could handle most things, but his arm… his sword arm was part of who and what he was, and even though he would still have his magic, still be able to fight, the thought of losing even part of that terrified him. He thought they must’ve realised that at some point – maybe his expression had betrayed him – because they were focusing more and more attention on the joint that had been injured in his capture, and each time, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the tipping point.

The point of no return.

The worst thing was that he knew how to make it stop, they had only wanted one thing from him ever since he’d woken in this hellhole of a cell. Laxus. They wanted information on the Dragon-slayer, and they wanted to know where he was – as though Freed even knew the answer to that considering he wasn’t even sure where he’d wound up once he’d been captured.

As though he would ever betray his partner.

He knew how to make it stop, and he knew that he would never do it. They had mocked his loyalty more than once, pointing out that Laxus hadn’t come for him, that it had been days, weeks – and he had no way to confirm or disprove what they were telling him. Taunting him about their failed attack on Fairy Tail. As though he hadn’t ripped that event and his involvement in it to shreds over and over in his mind in the months afterwards. Those words were easy enough to let wash over him. They had made their peace with that past, with the guild and found their place in Fairy Tail once more, and as for Laxus coming for him. That was an inevitability. Laxus would come for him. It didn’t matter how long it took, how well they tried to hide him away, the Dragon-slayer would find him, and then all hell really would break loose.

Because they didn’t understand. They didn’t know that it wasn’t just loyalty that kept him quiet, although he had been loyal to Laxus far longer than he could call it anything else. It was faith, his unwavering certainty that Laxus was looking for him, that he would tear Fiore apart if that was what was required to find him and bring him home. And it was love. Freed would let them ruin his arm, let them destroy every part of himself, even his life if that was what it took to keep the Dragon-slayer safe. Just as he knew that Laxus would throttle him if he even knew where his thoughts were going. However, considering he was hung here, arm a throbbing, burning source of agony, breath rattling in his chest – cracked possibly broken rubs – and blood staining his face and clothes, he figured that he was entitled to let his thoughts go where they would.

As long as he held his tongue, just a little longer…

Another punch snapped him back to the present, and he opened eyes that he didn’t remember closing. His vision was blurry, shadows encroaching on the edges and odd light spots dancing across his eyes. _That’s new,_ he thought blearily, trying to focus on the man in front of him, watching his lips moving but unable to make sense of the sounds he was making. Not that he needed to, after all, there was only one thing they had been asking him about, and he worked his mouth for a moment, gathering the blood that had accumulated and spitting it out. It missed, the man jerking backwards with a snarl that Freed met with a weak, bloody-lipped smirk of his own. _I won’t break,_ he promised not sure if he was talking to his tormentors, himself or the Dragon-slayer coming for him.

_Laxus, I’m waiting for you…_


	11. Betrayal - Stingue

Purple light, flickering with sickly green flooded Sting’s vision, and he started to fling himself out of the path of the attack, every instinct in him screaming to get as far away from it as possible. Then he saw Rogue. His mate had his back to the oncoming threat, pressed on two sides by the other mages, his shadows curving around him and whipping out wildly. Holding his own but blind to the danger rushing towards him, and just like that Sting reversed course, a different instinct taking over as he flung himself into the path of the attack…

…and felt nothing.

He’d cried out in anticipation of pain, but while he felt it hit, as though someone had stood right in front of him and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble back several steps. Tingling spreading across his body, it didn’t hurt, and the feeling had passed by the time he had steadied himself leaving him staring down at himself incredulously. _Was that it?_

“Sting?! Sting, are you hurt?” Rogue was there, his opponents down on the ground and groaning, reaching for him with frantic hands and a worried expression. Sting looked up at him, opening his mouth to reassure him that he was okay and that it had been a false alarm, when his vision blurred and all he could see was purple and green, the world painted in it for a long moment and when he blinked Rogue was gone.

Instead, something else was looming over him. A creature that looked somewhere between a Vulcan and a massive lizard, and he sprang back, eyes darting around in alarm. _Rogue, where was Rogue…_ He could still see the mages on the ground, but there was no sign of his mate, and terror clawed at him as his eyes returned to the monstrosity and the blood on curved claws that were reaching for him. It was making a noise that sounded almost worried, but then it shifted, becoming a snarl and Sting snarled back. “Give him back!” He charged, lunging towards the creature, a tiny part of him noting that it faltered and fell back, making no attempt to either attack him or defend himself. A bubble of doubt rising for a moment before purple and green flashed again and all he could see was the danger looming, sick with fear for Rogue. “ROGUE!”

Light spilt forth, surrounding him. A beacon to show Rogue that he was there, that he was coming. A threat as he slammed into the creature, sending it flying back several feet, hearing it bellow with pain. “Give him back!” He repeated, voice little more than a growl. _Rogue. Rogue, where are you?!_ He could smell his mate he realised, the scent all around him, pressing close…and he couldn’t smell the creature. He tilted his head, sniffing the air. Everything had a smell, but not this thing, he could smell Rogue, the mages they had been fighting, another human scent somewhere nearby but not the creature that was back on its feet again and moving back towards him. It’s movements hesitation, clawed arms spread as though to show it was a threat, ruined by the blood glittering on the edge of its claws, and yet the eyes… the eyes were far too human, and they met his gaze with a plea in their depths and his throat tightened.

“…Rogue?” It couldn’t be, could it? But Rogue had been, there hadn’t he? Reaching for him, checking on him split seconds before, and…

Green and Purple flared again, filling his vision and this time it hurt. Burning his eyes, pressing against him until it felt that every inch of his body was on fire, and there was a whisper in it this time. _Destroy it, save your mate. Save Rogue…_

A lie.

Sting lifted his head, blinking away the colours, vision blurry and legs unsteady as the pain lingered, seeking out the creature’s too-human eyes, holding its gaze. Worry. Hope. Love. Emotions that shouldn’t have been in those eyes all stared back at him, and he swallowed, knowing that there had only ever been one person who had looked at him like that.

_Rogue._

Still holding the creature’s gaze, he sniffed and saw it doing the same, both tensing at the same time as they pinpointed the unknown human in a nearby cluster of trees. A wordless glance. A certainty that couldn’t be tricked by the magic still trying to hold him, purple and green flashing across his vision every few seconds. They moved as one, a trust that Sting had come scarily close to breaking singing between them as shadow and light lashed out together, tearing through bark and leaves, and ending in a loud cry that was half-pain and half curse, and Sting’s vision went purple, then green…then white.

And when he came back to himself, he was on the ground, aching in every part of his body and his head cradled in Rogue’s lap. His mate running his fingers through his hair, his wonderfully human fingers, all traces of the magic banished, and Sting breathed deep, drinking in the sight of him, the scent of him, even as he reached out to catch Rogue’s hand in his and squeezed. “Rogue…”


	12. Play - Orfus

Orga was moving the second he sensed the atmosphere in the bar – already tense from the after-effects of their job – had turned nasty, managing to bat the first bottle that was thrown out of the air and back at the man who had thrown it, before he reached the card table. “I think its time to go,” he muttered to Rufus, lightning crackling behind him and shielding them from a wave of projectiles, wincing as more glass broke, although hopefully, it would discourage them from rushing them. Rufus didn’t argue, scooping up what winnings he could even as he rose. Letting his partner shepherd him towards the door, not wasting his breath to argue as Orga kept himself between him and the crowd that was getting ready to bubble over with righteous fury.

On a job they fought side by side, that was a rule he had insisted on long ago, but this wasn’t a job, and his attention had been on the game, not able to be distracted for a moment so that he could memorise every card played in order to maximise their winnings. Now that he had stopped, he could feel the headache that had taken root behind his eyes, and he was more than happy to let Orga guide him outside.

They had barely set foot beyond the door when the crowd broke, and there were angry shouts and the sound of rushing feet. “I told you we shouldn’t have hustled them,” Orga groaned, already pushing him forward into a run, one hand resting on his back, keeping pace as though he knew Rufus’ head was pounding.

“You’re the one that destroyed half the town and left us not only without pay for the job but having to pay out for repairs too,” Rufus retorted. It wasn’t as though Orga’s destructiveness was anything knew, he had always had a tendency to get carried away during a fight, but before the threat of Jiemma and losing their pay had reined him in a little. That deterrent was gone, and the more time they spent with Fairy Tail, the wilder his partner seemed to get and today had been one of those days when it had boiled over, colliding with an opponent he hadn’t cared about collateral damage, and the town had born the brunt. And it had been a choice before paying out what jewels they had, or a cosy night with the Rune Knights and Rufus had handed them over before Orga could argue. Which had left them stuck without the means to travel home or find somewhere to stay, and no one willing to pay them even if they had work that needed mages.

It had been Orga who had tentatively suggested he join the card game in the bar when they had retreated to work out what to do next, remembering how Rufus had crushed him at Strip Poker a few months before with some generous use of his magic.

It had been a gamble, and while they now had enough jewels to get home and make the journey at least partially worthwhile. They also had an angry crowd on their heels for the second time in one day. “And this was your idea,” he added, just in case his partner had forgotten.

“Fine…” Orga sighed, pulling a face at him as he yanked him down a side alley, all but pushing Rufus between some crates as they heard the footsteps drawing closer, drawing level…and passing by. The two of them holding their breath for longer than needed, neither of them daring to move or speak until the voices were in the distance, and then Rufus was sighing in relief, pressing his now pounding head against Orga’s chest, while the God Slayer drew in a ragged breath. “Maybe not my best idea,” Orga admitted, leaning down to kiss his temple having noted the wincing. “But you have to admit that it worked.”

“This time…”


	13. Adventure - Jerik

A pardon. Freedom.

Everything they had and hadn’t hoped for.

It was only when they had left the throne room, Hisui’s words and forgiveness ringing in their ears, that it dawned on Jellal that he had never truly considered what might come next. Their guild had been established for the sole purpose of making amends for their past misdeeds, and despite everything they had done, the good they had achieved, he had never let himself believe that it was going to be enough. Even now, knowing that he could walk out of here past the guards, the newly reformed Rune Knights, without being stopped, he wasn’t sure that he believed it. Maybe with time, it would feel more real, or he would know what to do with this gift they had been given, an absolution he had never allowed himself to hope for. For now, he just felt numb. No, not just numb. He was afraid too, of what was going to happen now, of what he might do now that he had been told that he had made amends.

Would he fall back into old behaviour?

Would he lose his way again?

Would…

A warm hand grasped his, and he grasped it like a drowning man about to be washed out to sea. Looking up, he found Erik watching him, head tilted to the side, no doubt trying to make sense of the whirling thoughts going through his head at the moment. Part of him wanted to tell him to stop, not wanting to burden his partner with his fear and doubts, remembering how Erik had grinned in the throne room, relieved and hopeful in a way that Jellal wasn’t ready to be. Another part was relieved because he didn’t have the words to explain how he was feeling or what he was thinking, not even sure what he was thinking at the moment, everything a mess in his head.

“You always overthink things,” Erik murmured, the words only for his ears, although from the knowing looks the others sent them as they went ahead, they had been expecting this conversation. Jellal’s ears pinked at the realisation, wondering when he had become so easy for them all to read. “We don’t have to make any decisions today, Jellal.” A squeeze, anchoring him to the present and to Erik’s words. “Today is for celebrating.”

“Celebrating…?” Jellal echoed, incredulous and lost. Was that what he was supposed to do? Celebrate the end of a journey? The end of a purpose?

“We’re free,” Erik said, moving to stand in front of him, hands still linked as he brought them to a halt. “Free in a way that none of us has ever been. Yes, things have ended.” Another squeeze, but where Jellal felt even more lost at those words, Erik looked excited. “But Jellal.” Erik reached out with his other hands to grasp his chin, tilting his head up and holding his gaze. “It’s also a beginning, and this time we get to choose our path, our adventure for ourselves and I’ve already chosen mine.”

“You have…?” Jellal didn’t expect to constrict like it did, a sudden panic clawing at his throat. Was this also about to change? Was…? Lips covered his, Erik smiling as he deepened it, a lingering promise in the kiss.

“I have.”


	14. Vulnerable - Jerik

Jellal faltered as he caught himself knocking on the bedroom door, hand falling back to his side as he remembered that it would do any good. He was too used to hearing Erik calling out for him to call in even before he had reached the door, to anticipating his every move, even as his partner had tried to tone it back. Now, he didn’t have a choice, and Jellal didn’t know to fix it.

Was it even fixable?

They didn’t even know what the curse had done, beyond leaving Erik trapped in a bubble of silence that so far, their attempts hadn’t been able to penetrate let alone remove. Jellal shivered. It had been hard enough when he had lost his sight, having to rely on the others, learning to compensate even temporarily with his other senses, and that had been him. For Erik, with his sensitive senses and his reliance on his ability to hear, it had to be like being trapped in hell.

“I’m coming in,” he called, knowing that it meant nothing, that Erik couldn’t hear it. Hated that it made him feel better, as he turned the handle and slipped inside. The room beyond was in darkness, and quiet, so quiet, and he could hear Erik’s ragged breathing, the edge of panic that had been there ever since the Dragon-slayer had first realised he couldn’t hear anything at all. Cautiously he turned on the light, and immediately his eyes were drawn to the figure huddled between their bed and the far wall, heart constricting at the sight.

_Erik…_

The Dragon-slayer wasn’t looking at him, head pressed against his knees, fingers drumming on the side of his head, just shy of touching the point of his ears. A desperate attempt to hear a sound. He looked small like this, when usually even at his quietest he seemed to spill the space around him, although according to Sorano that was because Jellal couldn’t take his eyes off him. That was true, but Erik was meant to be seen, to be heard. And seeing him like this, trying to hide away from this soundless world hurt. He looked lost, vulnerable in a way that scared Jellal because it felt as though he could disappear just as quickly as sound had disappeared from Erik’s world. It was that, more than any real hope that he would be welcomed or that he could offer more than a modicum of comfort that propelled him forward, stomping his feet, trying to make vibrations so that he wouldn’t startle the Dragon-slayer as he had countless times since this had begun.

Whether Erik felt the vibrations or the weight of his gaze, the Dragon-slayer stirred, lifting his head to peer at Jellal, his gaze raw and impossible to hold. He was hurting in a way that Jellal could never fully understand, couldn’t heal, couldn’t help, and guilt surged. He clamped down on it, moving forward slowly and steadily until he was close enough to crouch in front of his partner. It was almost a relief that Erik couldn’t hear either his thoughts – a whirling, churning mess of worry and guilt and dread that he wouldn’t give voice to – or his voice, because right then, seeing the redness around Erik’s eye, the dried tear tracks, he didn’t have anything to say. Instead, he opened his arms in silent invitation, and there was a pause, Jellal barely breathing, Erik looking ready to shatter, and then the Dragon-slayer was moving, launching himself into the waiting embrace and Jellal held him close. Absorbing the trembling, the sob that was little more than a whisper of sound, the fingers that clutched at him, searching for an anchor in the strange, silent world.


End file.
